AN: Hey, everybody! The long-awaited second chapter of Deeper Than Blood is finally complete! Now I just have to write the third chapter…don't worry, I've got a good head start. I've got a list of shout-outs here. The first goes to Apocalypse, who stepped up to the plate when I needed help! Thanks! Lots of thanks to Danette, who listened to me whine and go through several STRANGE ideas over IM! Rock on! To all of those who reviewed at the DG site/list, and on ffn! And to my wonderful friends, who still have yet to read this, hint hint.
Disclaimer: Characters that you don't recognize are mine. The rest belong to Warner Brothers Studios and JK Rowling and all of those big names I can't remember.
Fear in Blood
Chapter Two
And I get so lonely in this crowd
I want to scream but make no sound
And yeah I'm lost but maybe I'll be fine
- I Do, Better Than Ezra
Draco,
His Lordship is expecting your journey home this summer with great anticipation. He is quite eager to have a Hogwarts Head Boy in his service. He hopes that perhaps you will remind him of himself. I told him that you were a despicable weakling, but he wants to get his own opinion of you.
Your mother is also looking forward to your arrival. So are the dungeons.
Do not forget my last words to you when you left from Easter Break. Think long on them, they may be your downfall.
Cordially,
Lucius Malfoy
Draco hauled in a deep breath and slowly let it out, feeling his chest hitch. In the past, his father had always done him a favor by sending the letters at night when Draco had time to sleep on them and mentally prepare himself for a new day. Lucius had never sent a letter at breakfast, but today he seemed to be breaking his pattern. Great. The day Draco had exams, Lucius decided to be spontaneous.
His hardest exam, Transfiguration, would be his first one. Draco had rejoiced at first because he would get the hardest out of the way first, but now all he felt was dread. He would have to take an examination with this hanging over his head. Talk about bad timing. Subconsciously, he nibbled on one of the cookies his mother had sent him as he read over her letter, attached to his father's with the clasp of a very expensive-looking black Muggle pen that flashed "Head Boy" in green and silver. He pocketed the pen as he read.
Dearest Draco,
I'm so excited that you're coming home in a week and a half! Of course, I have owled most of your professors and they claim you're doing well. Your father himself tells me that you are the leading contender for Head Boy. If you were to make that, son, I would be so proud of you! Even if you don't, remember that you still are my son and I am still your mother, even if your father disowns you. I hope you enjoy these cookies. I told Snippy to bake them myself, so you can consider them baked with love.
Love,
Narcissa
Draco groaned. His mother meant well, but she just didn't get the whole mothering concept. Instead of trying to make him feel better, she'd done just the opposite. He grumbled to himself and stashed both letters in his pocket, offering the cookies to Millicent Bulstrode. She accepted greedily just a tiny screech-owl dropped a letter on Draco's head. "Hey!" he cried. The letter clunked suspiciously as it bounced off of his head and hit the table. Feeling indignant, he opened the letter and watched a single Knut fall out. Unfortunately, adding to Draco's incredible bad luck, the Knut was charmed to bounce—right into his pumpkin juice. "Ugh," he complained, and picked up the letter.
Draco,
Knut for your thoughts. Or your enjoyment, take your pick.
Ginny
PS—This is a good luck charm. You know, for getting Head Boy and all.
Draco rubbed his head where the letter had hit it, smiled in the direction of the Gryffindor table, and pocketed this letter as well. That done, he proceeded to fish the Knut out of his pumpkin juice. It rolled onto the floor and bounced on his foot for a few seconds until he caught it. "Stillus," he told it irritably, wondering if he should just stash it in his pocket. One didn't keep good luck charms in one's pocket, did one? After a long moment of indecision, Draco conjured a small silver chain and attached the Knut to it using magic. He then strung that around his neck and let that rest under his uniform.
Ginny caught his eye and turned away, grinning evilly. Draco only smiled back and returned to his breakfast, studiously avoiding his pumpkin juice.
*
"Perform a two-transfiguration equation on the blackboard and then execute it on this potted houseplant."
"Train an entire chorus of Silent Doves to sing Beethoven's Fifth Symphony. Be sure to include all five voice parts, first and second chair of each pitch."
"Use the Dream-Plane to predict what will happen in your life in two weeks. Write a detailed essay on how to use the Dream-Plane."
"Recite to me Patrick's Rune, using correct pronunciation and rhythms. When you are finished, recite the spells used to activate these words and use them to create your own four-line rune, based on the methods learned in Chapter Two of Runic Translations."
"Write an essay on how to cure Hemphitis Totalus and create the cure using the plants at your Greenhouse table."
"Name the fifteen ingredients in a perfectly good Vindinctus Potion and how they must be prepared."
"Write an essay explaining the structures of the different words used in the Unforgivable Curses and why these structures make these words so dangerous."
Draco sighed wearily as he finished his last essay—Arithmancy—and stretched. The Bouncing Knut tugged weakly on its chain, as though mirroring Draco's utter exhaustion. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione Granger twiddling her thumbs, waiting until the very end of the class period to hand in her exam. Most of the students were still on the first page, scrawling random nonsense and hoping that Professor Vector wouldn't notice. Draco's looping print, looking oddly formal against the cheap parchment, raced across four pages. The Unforgivable Curses were curses he knew practically everything about; this essay had been excruciatingly easy.
Idly, Draco pulled the Bouncing Knut off of the chain and twirled that around on his finger. He had been the first one done with his Potions exam, so he'd had quite a bit of time on his hands to mess around with the Knut. As a joke, he had charmed half of it silver and the other half crimson. On the crimson side, a Gryffindor lion roared silently, clawing at the air. Opposite of that, the Slytherin snake emblazoned its way around the pendant, hissing quietly. Draco was rather fond of his invention—it took complicated magic to work any sort of spells on a magical coin. The Ministry had made it impossible to change a Knut to a Galleon, but that didn't mean Draco couldn't mess around with a few appearance-changing charms.
When Professor Vector called an end to the exam, Draco was trying to charm the word "Slytherin" onto the silver side. Amid the chorus of groans from the students who hadn't finished, Draco stood up and picked up his bag, depositing the paper on Professor Vector's desk as he passed. He was about to head down to the Slytherin Common Room to clean up a bit and get lighter clothing on when a hand grabbed his arm and jerked him into an alcove behind a knight in full regalia.
"What is going on with you and Ginny?" Hermione Granger demanded, glaring at Draco.
Caught off guard, Draco just jumped and stared at her. "Hello, Malfoy? What is going on?"
"Why do I even have to answer to you? Weasley demanding information was one thing; you're not even related to Ginny." Draco was extremely tired of it all: tired of exams, tired of Harry Bloody Potter and his Company, tired of being Draco Malfoy. He was also incredibly tired of walking around on eggshells because a few conversations with a Gryffindor. He was destined to be Head Boy, after all, what was wrong with him being friendly?
"I'm Head Girl."
"Not yet."
"Well, I will be." Granger was getting very irritated by now with Draco's stolid casualness.
Time to change tactics, as Draco was bored with this. "That's funny, Granger," he said, receiving a puzzled look from Granger. "I mean, whoever thought the two of us could be Head Boy and Girl? The must be something between us. In fact, I wish there was something. A country." Draco knew he was being childish, but he was too tired to care right now. If Granger was going to act stupid, then he had every right to.
"You won't be Head Boy, Malfoy. Dumbledore's already got Harry in his sights for Head Boy," Granger snapped. "He's better at everything than you are."
"That so?" Draco quirked an eyebrow at her. "I didn't know he was a brain-child. So he's just one level below you—because you took an extra class? So he had an entire shut-out season with only one team scoring against him? So he's nominated for 'Outstanding Hogwarts Quidditch Captains' by James Cochran?"
Granger flushed angrily. "He's not pure evil, at least."
"I really pity you if you think that evil is still in black and white—or green and red. You must have had a very deluded childhood." Draco, finally bored with the conversation, said, patting her on the shoulder in a paternal fashion. She recoiled from him just as he turned away.
"Death Eater," Granger hissed as Draco stepped back into the hallway.
Perhaps she expected Draco to be furious at her—she winced as he turned around and grinned at her. "Death Eater, did you say, Granger? No, I'm going to be the Minister of Magic."
"Lord help us all," somebody passing by muttered.
*
Ginny was reading out underneath a great willow tree when Draco found her. He'd searched everywhere but the Gryffindor Common Room, figuring that it was too hot of a day to be inside a stuffy tower. He had stopped by and peeked into Hagrid's hut, but Granger and Hagrid were eating lunch there with Weasley and Potter. Down by the lake hadn't been very successful either. Draco had been about to give up when Ginny's flaming plume of hair caught the sunlight in the corner of his eye.
Ginny was deeply immersed in the adventures of poor Princess Amelia when a shadow fell across the page. Draco crouched next to her in his awkward half-kneel, half-crouch that looked painful. "How'd exams go for you?"
"I messed up my potion a bit and got a couple of points taken off, but otherwise I think I aced them. I'm no Hermione, but—"
"Awww," and Draco dropped to the ground beside her, looking exhausted. "You're twice the person Granger is, you're just too shy for anybody to realize it." Ginny couldn't help but notice that the dark circles under his eyes had only deepened over exams. When he reached up to brush a strand of red that had escaped the clasp of Ginny's hair-tie, she saw the scabs on his palm from his fingernails. She wanted to ask, "What's happening to you?" but held her tongue.
Instead, she asked, "How did exams go for you?"
"Great; perfect. A clean-sweep of full-scores, I'm sure," Draco said, leaning on one elbow and playing with the grass. He watched a caterpillar crawl along his index finger for a long moment before depositing it on Ginny's book. "Listen, I wanted to talk to you about what you asked me the other day."
"About whether you're a Death Eater or not," Ginny said dully, ignoring the flush of embarrassment rising to her cheeks.
"Yes, about that." Draco plucked up a strand of grass and held it taut between his hands. Raising his eyebrows, he blew into that and produced a shrill whistle. "I'm not a Death Eater and I would love to say that I'm never going to be."
Ginny only stared at him a long time.
"Look," and Draco pulled the sleeve of his gray shirt up to show his bare forearm. "No mark, nothing. You can do a revealing spell, there's nothing there." He brandished the arm for Ginny, but she shoved it away.
"The mark means nothing," she said in a closed, short voice that made him jump. She looked away from his bare arm and closed her eyes.
"I'm not a Death Eater," he hissed, misinterpreting her. In one swift motion, he sat up and grabbed her shoulders. "If you don't believe the mark, then you'll have to believe my word. It's not something I like to give—people don't accept it."
"That's because ninety-five percent of the school hates you," Ginny said bitterly, leaning back against the tree. "I don't even want to face Harry or Ron tonight. Ron especially. He's going to be furious."
"Last time I checked, Weasley was only your brother."
"See, that's funny, because Weasley is my mum, too, and my father, and my uncle, and my loads of cousins, and my grandfather…"
"Okay, okay! I get the picture. Last time I checked, Ron was only your brother." Draco rolled his eyes and threw his hands up as he flopped backwards onto the grass. "He's not your father, is he?"
"He likes to think he is. There's not even a year between us. We're both sixteen right now." Ginny watched him for a long moment, relaxed and seemingly innocent. He lay there in the grass, his chin tilted up in his typical defiance, but his face was angelic since she couldn't see his hardened eyes. She played with his thin hair for a moment. He winced away at first, but managed to hold still. "You're awfully jumpy today."
"It's been a long day. Miss Granger wanted a conference to…discuss my merits as a possible Head Boy. She quite delighted in falsely accusing me of being a Death Eater and thus pure evil," Draco said after a long pause. "Oh, yes, and Professor Snape wants to see me after dinner tonight. Don't scowl at me, I know you don't like the guy, but he's my favorite professor." Even with his eyes closed, Draco could predict Ginny's face.
"And don't stick your tongue out at me, it's rude." Ginny laughed because she had done just that.
"Ahem." Another shadow fell across Ginny's lap.
Ginny glanced up, dread icing the inside of her chest and stomach regions. "Oh, hullo, Ron. Wanting me?"
Ron glared daggers at Draco's prone figure. "You two seem to be awfully close. Why are you letting this filth touch you, Gin? Don't you have any dignity?"
"Afternoon to you too, Wea—Ron," Draco commented without opening his eyes. "Hey, take one step forward. You're blocking my light. I'm working on a killer tan." Ron grudgingly took one step forward. "Yes, thanks, that's better." Ginny had to hide a snicker with a cough.
"Come on, Ginny," Ron snapped, offering his hand down. Draco opened his eyes and wormed up so that he was partially sitting up, resting on his elbows. "There are better people about to talk to."
Ginny looked between Ron and Draco, Ron looking furious, Draco looking composed and pale, a clear sign that he was starting to get annoyed. "Go," Draco said quietly. "I don't want to cause any problems in the family. I need to talk to Madam Hooch about Quidditch matters anyway. See you around, Ginny. You, too, Ron." He climbed smoothly to his feet and pulled Ginny up, squeezing her hand in a rare gesture before walking off.
"Strange git," Ron muttered as Ginny followed him away from her beloved tree. "What do you see in him?"
"A lot of things he doesn't."
*
"You wanted to see me, Professor?" Draco Malfoy poked his head into Snape's office and looked about for the professor. Unsurprisingly, he was not there. Draco was one of the only students who knew about Snape's horrible problems with punctuality. With a sigh, he crossed to the bookshelf against the wall and thumbed through the selections, finally picking out Potions For When Life Gets You Down: An Intellectual Guide To Your Everyday Needs. With that under his arm, he retreated to the chair he had waited in so many times for the Slytherin House Head to show and immersed himself in the guide.
"'It is essentially important to keep on a strong face when somebody you dearly love is breaking up with you,'" Draco read aloud, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of this book. His eyes trailed down the page where somebody had scrawled notes about the break-up potion. Fortunately for Draco, the handwriting wasn't Snape's. It was too scratchy and unorganized.
Geez, they have potions for break-ups? What is this world coming to? Draco was wondering to himself as a creak behind him warned him of the opening door. Draco set the book on the desk, intending to ask to borrow it after the meeting. He needed a good laugh; with finals and his dreams bothering him, it had been a long time since he had laughed.
The book, however, was wiped from his thoughts when he turned to look at the man who had entered the room. In fact, everything was wiped from his thoughts. The world had just inverted and dumped itself into his lap. His entire body tensed up and he clutched the arms of the ridiculously ornate chair with whitened knuckles. Gray eyes widened with rabbit-like fear as Draco Malfoy cringed away from what he had been running from for nearly a year.
Lucius Malfoy strode calmly up to Professor Snape's desk and leaned indolently against the chair, watching Draco's guarded eyes carefully. "You call yourself my son? You did not even look back when I entered the room. I could have been Dumbledore waiting to attack you. And it would have been easy for me."
"Attacking me always seemed to be your strong suit," Draco said through gritted teeth. He forced a pleasant look much like the one on his father's, and asked, "What brings you to Hogwarts, Father? There's not a week left—if you had wanted to beat me, I'm sure you could have waited. It's very touching that you traveled all this way—"
"Misters Malfoy," somebody interrupted from the door. Professor Snape stood there, cloaked in robes of deep black and maroon. He, like Draco, looked furious but managed to pass off for looking pallid. He moved quickly to the desk in a typical Snape move, and crossed his arms. "I'm sorry to interrupt your little father-son banter, but I have a meeting with young Draco here."
"A meeting with my son?" Lucius asked, straightening idly and raising an eyebrow at Draco.
"Yes, to discuss my prospects as Head Boy and Quidditch Captain," Draco said smoothly, well-accustomed to lying. "The author of 'Outstanding Hogwarts Quidditch Captains' is considering me for the top fifty captains. Not many other captains through Hogwarts have managed to have only one team score one goal on them. We've quite an exceptional team this year, in fact."
"Except for the Seeker." Lucius Malfoy did not bother to hide the contempt in his eyes or his voice as he regarded his son, making Draco feel ten years younger. Neither of the two made any change in expression as they stared at each other; Draco had once heard it rumored that somebody could beat Lucius Malfoy over the head with a club and his expression would not change. Draco was determined to match his father, step for step.
"Ah, Draco is one of the best Hogwarts has seen," Snape said diplomatically, moving to his desk chair. "It is unfortunate that his Quidditch reign should happen while Harry Potter is at Hogwarts—the boy has a rare innate ability that I doubt will meet much opposition. Draco is obviously the better captain. Many of the team are looking forward to reigning on the Pitch once again under his captaincy."
This was news to Draco. Professor Snape hardly said anything good in Draco's favor, even though Draco knew himself to be one of the picky professor's favorite subjects. Lucius Malfoy glared at the potions professor. "I'm sorry," Snape continued, "but I cannot let you stay here. Parents of attending students are supposed to report to Professor Dumbledore."
"Severus," Lucius growled, prowling forward and reaching for his left sleeve. "If You-Know—"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy. I adhere to Hogwarts laws within the walls of the castle. I will not allow you to harm my top student." Now Snape's eyes burned with a hatred so fierce that it nearly startled Draco into scooting back into his chair. There was no love lost between Lucius and Snape, obviously. If Draco had been pinned with that glare, he probably would have run off for the nearest cliff. He marveled that Lucius stood his ground for as long as he did.
Finally, Lucius left, slamming the door behind him in a very childish fit.
Without any ado, Snape reached over and plucked up the book Draco had been reading. "I'd forgotten that I owned this," he remarked carefully, reading the spine. "I was a more foolish man in yesteryears, Mr. Malfoy. We have not reached our peak of wisdom at the age of sixteen." He thumbed through it before handing it back to Draco. "You may borrow this book if it intrigues you."
"Yes, sir." Draco was used to cryptic remarks from Snape. He would mull over this one later. Right now, he had other things to worry about. "I lied to my father, didn't I? We're not here to discuss Quidditch, are we?"
"If you wish to discuss Quidditch, then we will do so, but no, we are not." Professor Snape leaned forward and placed his chin on his clasped hands, his elbows resting on his desk. "I sense that you will be undergoing some big changes this summer."
"Bit of a understatement," Draco said in a forcefully cheery tone. "You are aware of my circumstances?"
"Much more so than you are, Mr. Malfoy," a new voice joined them. Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, stepped into Professor Snape's office and smiled at both of the occupants. Both Snape and Draco stood up to acknowledge his presence. "Evening, Severus, Mr. Malfoy."
"Good evening."
The aged professor moved into the chair Draco pulled out for him and smiled up at the tall sixteen-year-old. "You show an old fool quite a bit of respect, Mr. Malfoy."
Draco, a straight-A student in Tactics and Comebacks 101, smiled back. "You're no more foolish than I am old, Professor." He sat down in his own chair and watched Snape pour three cups of tea.
"A double-edged comment, Mr. Malfoy, like yourself," Albus Dumbledore returned in high amusement. He accepted the cup of tea Snape passed him and reached for the condiments. Draco inclined his head at the Potions Master as he accepted his own cup and took a sip. The tea was some sort of raspberry tea, he could sense. Apparently, Snape had a fondness for raspberries…and was that lemon he could taste? Draco nearly smiled approvingly; the man had good taste in tea as he watched his favorite professor pour his own drink. Snape merely sipped his tea without tainting it with milk or sugar. Draco was quite pleased to find somebody else at Hogwarts who drank his tea hot and plain. Both Draco and Snape watched Professor Dumbledore pour milk into his own tea and stir it with his wand. "So, as I understand, you were born into the Order."
Hot tea splashed down Draco's hand into his sensitive cuts, making him wince. He had to admire Professor Dumbledore's bluntness. The man could give a sledge hammer a run for its Sickles. "Er, yes, sir, I was. I was the last child born into the Order."
"A remarkable feat." Professor Dumbledore peered at Draco through his half-moon spectacles, his eyes shining. "Now, as Severus has tried to explain the Order to me time and time again, let's see if I can get this right. Shortly after you were born, you were taken to Lord Voldemort, correct?" Professor Dumbledore looked for Draco's nod before he continued. "And he cursed you."
"That's right." Draco's throat was dry but he left his tea untouched. He wasn't sure if he could stomach it right then. "If I don't get the Dark Mark put on me by my seventeenth birthday, then…" He trailed off and struggled to swallow. "The death I would suffer would be most unimaginable." Now he did sip his tea, but the taste was so bitter that he nearly spat it back into the cup.
"I trust that you know what happened to those Death Eaters that were convicted," Professor Dumbledore said gently.
Draco looked up now, his eyes clear. The taste of the bitter tea still remained on his tongue, but he composed his face. "I researched every case known, Professor." Deep inside, he felt cold and sick, just like the child that had screamed in the dungeons.
"And what did it say of Severus Snape?" Professor Dumbledore prodded gently.
Draco watched the potions master as he answered. "He was acquitted on your testimony, sir. The court file says no more than that." Feeling daring, he continued, "If I may be so…"
"Yes, go ahead with your presumptions," Snape said quickly in a voice that betrayed nothing.
Draco shot him a questioning glance, but his next words were to Professor Dumbledore. "It almost seemed that Professor Snape was working for you, Professor." He swung his head over to Professor Dumbledore now, grey eyes piercing as they stared. When he was concentrating on something, they would become the color of steel. "You didn't say anything of the sort, and the person who was recording the trial blamed it on a case of teacher-student relations. What strikes me about that is that most of the other Death Eaters that were convicted to Azkaban were from Hogwarts as well. It makes one wonder: why Professor Snape? There was a list of crimes beneath his file, just like everybody else's. His testimony was there, identical to the rest. He didn't even give the appearance of being any different. It didn't—and still doesn't—seem to me like a simple case of teacher-student affiliation."
Professor Dumbledore looked at Draco for a tense moment, eyes a-twinkle. For a fleeting of an instant, Draco had an absurd fear that he had upset the aging professor. This was not something Draco was accustomed to feeling; his training with Lucius Malfoy had taught him ruthlessness and cunning and had not included any humane sort of emotion. And, for the first time in his life, Draco was afraid of what somebody thought of him. Well, not just somebody—Albus Dumbledore.
Finally, Snape started laughing, a hearty, roaring laugh that Draco had never heard. "The boy's smart. What did I tell you, Albus?"
Draco stared between the two professors as one chuckled and the other shook with unnerving laughter. "Yes, you were quite right, Severus. I think our choice for Head Boy has been quite correct, though even I had my doubts," Albus agreed between chuckling fits. After he and Snape had stopped laughing, he turned to Draco. "You are perhaps the first student passing through Hogwarts to judge this information correctly, besides Mr. Potter and his crew. They could not help finding out, I am afraid."
The air in Snape's office turned quite serious just then. Pickled hog heads stared glassily down at them, the fire lit their faces with green. The hairs on the back of Draco's neck stood up as they were known to do when he felt threatened. "You're going to ask me not to join the Death Eaters, aren't you?" he asked suddenly, feeling ice slime up through his esophagus. To anybody watching, he would have appeared pale, like an albino rabbit ready to run. "You're going to ask me not to join because that's what good guys do, isn't it? Isn't it? Don't the good guys kill themselves before they will even think of becoming evil?"
Professor Dumbledore stopped him. "I would never ask a student to give his life," he said in quiet voice that meant business. "Instead, I've come here to ask you to join the Death Eaters."
Draco's mouth nearly dropped open, but he managed to avoid it. "But you knew I was going to, didn't you?" he insisted intently, eyes narrowing as he searched for the catch. "Why would you come ask me to do something I was already planning to?" Just like when he had seen Lucius in the doorway, he felt scared and confused and quite royally sick. This was not how he liked to feel at all. Draco Malfoy liked to be in control of his situations.
"You must join, we know that. But you do not have to join with the intention of becoming evil," Dumbledore told him gently. "I am asking you to make the hardest decision of your life. You don't have to answer me right away—you don't have to answer me ever, if you wish. No student will be sent to Azkaban while in Hogwarts unless they kill or purposely harm another student. Voldemort will not stand for that happening.
"What I'm saying, Mr. Malfoy, is that I want you to give up your loyalty to your father and the Dark Lord – and join the Order of Phoenix."
Draco stopped short. The Order of Phoenix…that was supposed to be just some rumor, some 'good guy' club to be laughed at in the eerie green light of the Slytherin Common Room. It was merely Dumbledore's crack-pot organization to "put an end to the bad bogeys of the world and vanquish all evil." He himself had joked just last year that only Muggle-lovers and mudbloods joined this type of organization.
Say no, some obstinately evil voice in the back of Draco's mind chirped immediately. Be evil, be like your father. C'mon, it'll be funny. Draco's body temperature plummeted at this, but that was nothing to what his mind told him next. You always wanted to anyway. What's stopping you now? The affections of some Gryffindor?
"You mean, become a spy against the Death Eaters?" Draco repeated numbly, trying to ignore the voice and failing miserably. "Become a good guy and fight for world peace or whatever it is good guys fight for?"
Both professors stared at him intently, Professor Dumbledore's eyebrows raised. "Yes, Draco, that is what I am asking you to do. This is a difficult decision—I don't expect you to answer right away. Remember, should you choose to accept it, you may never outlive it." The wizened professor paused and sipped his tea before delivering the heavy blow. "In fact, this decision may kill you."
So no pressure, the annoying voice in Draco's head mused into the tense silence. His grip on the arms of the chair tightened in response, but he forced a pleasant look on his face. Join and become a 'good guy.' Wear your heart on your vest. Give to charities. De-worm poor orphans in Somalia. Draco's teeth gritted. Say no, and become evil. In fact, you'll be just like your father if you say no.
"I'll do it," he said, leaping forward suddenly as though his seat had bitten him. His voice failed him, but he forced out, "I'll become a spy."
Professor Dumbledore, about to continue, stopped. "You don't have to answer me now," he said gently. "I was going to let you sleep on it." The two professors passed a troubled look between them that gave Draco mixed feelings. He wanted to be annoyed that somebody was troubled over him, but it was oddly touching. Certainly, his father would have never worried about him like that.
Draco swallowed loudly. "I know, Professor." He held up a hand to prevent either professor from interrupting him. "I'm a Slytherin. The sorting hat told me that I would resort to any means to get what I want. A year ago, I wanted nothing more than to join Voldemort's ranks as another mindless minion. But something's changed me—I don't even know if I'm a Slytherin anymore." He swallowed. "I don't want to be a Death Eater—I don't want to kill at all."
"What changed?" The question was never voiced, but it was in the eyes of Draco's two mentors as they just looked at him. Barely restraining the trembling that was threatening to take him, Draco extended both hands out, palms up. Both professors could see scabs there, forming into scars where Draco's fingernails had pierced his flesh. "My father is a formidable figure. It is wise not to cross him. I trust that you will let me leave it at that."
This was not something Severus Snape wanted to hear. The professor rose from his desk and started to sweep towards his bookshelf, but one look from Professor Dumbledore stopped him. Resignedly, he nodded. "For the time being, we will. If these troubles should continue, the Order of Phoenix will be forced to do something about them." Draco blinked—why was the apathetic Potions Master standing up for him so vehemently?
"Perhaps," Albus Dumbledore said into the shocked silence that followed, "if you are willing to join the Order of Phoenix, you will meet me in my office tomorrow night at this time? Professor Snape will be waiting for you in his office. He will escort you from there. The password to my gargoyle, Severus, is Cadbury."
"Cadbury?" Draco asked, cocking an eyebrow.
"Muggle chocolate, my boy." Albus Dumbledore stood at this, looking quite pleased with himself. "We're thankful to have you on the team, Draco. You're a formidable character—it should be quite the addition for our side. I, for one, would be proud to have you stand with us. Hogwarts is honored to have such a Head Boy."
Draco stood as well, trying not to let the flush rise to his cheeks. "Thank you, sir." He followed Professor Dumbledore out of the office as Snape waved them out. He had made it all the way to the Slytherin Common Room before he realized that he had left his book in Snape's office. Sighing, he resolved to get it the next day and went up to meet the Quidditch team. The night was far from over—he still had to deal with Malcolm Baddock, stubborn prat of the fourth year.
*
"So nice of you to join us, Captain."
Draco paused on the threshold to the dungeon, watching the figures within through impassive eyes. "Hello, all," he said, pointedly ignoring Baddock's barbed welcome as he stepped inside and automatically took the seat Flint had grudgingly vacated at the head of the table. The thickset boy sat next to Millicent Bulstrode, throwing a distrusting look in her direction as she did so. "So, what have we come up with in the time I was out talking to Professor Snape?"
"It looks like you're Captain again," Tiger offered as she leaned back and flopped both hands on the table. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Baddock stiffen and try not to look too upset with this decision. The younger boy kept a cool face as he pulled a hand through his dark ponytail. "A problem, Malcolm?" Tiger asked sweetly, not very subtly hiding a glare in his direction as the low torchlight glinted off of her black hair.
"No, Tiger," Baddock subsided meekly.
Crabbe muffled a snorting laugh. Tiger Jawkins, petite and pretty, barely looked like she could take on a ten-year-old. The Slytherin Quidditch team, however, knew that she had a temper that Pansy Parkinson, winner of the Slytherin Poorest Anger-Management Award, could hardly hold a candle to. She had given black eyes to too many people to count, and was not afraid to show off the fact that she held a black belt in Tai Kwon Do. Her Muggle mother was a Karate Master of sorts. At first, nobody was quite sure how a half-blood had gotten into Slytherin, but time proved little Tiger to be the most devious of the lot.
Renton Marx leaned forward now, his poker face firmly in place. "The decision was easy," he told Draco. "You're the natural leader. Baddock wanted to overthrow you," and he sent a glare in Baddock's direction, "but we like winning." The fifth-year nearly matched Draco in height, but he was of average weight so he looked much larger. He spoke in a thick Jamaican accent that Draco was quite positive girls swooned over.
"Well, I'm touched," Draco said, pulling a manila folder out and thumbing it open. "Unless we hit some totally random all-star player, this is the starting team for next year. Congratulations, everybody, for deciding to stay with the team. I'm sure we'll pull off a shutout season next year. I have faith in our abilities—let's show the rest of the school we're better than them, shall we?" This was met with several snickers and coughs. "First order of business: Reserve players. We need them, and we need them to be as good as the rest of us. While the spring looks sparse, the well is not dry, so what do we have? Anybody know of likely candidates?"
"Way ahead of you." Tiger reached into her own manila folder and pulled out a clipping, sliding that across the table to Draco. "These two are second years. They don't look related, but don't let that fool you—they're twins." One glance at the photograph told Draco that these two were Beaters. "Jacob and Lacy Dunkirk. The Gryffindors did so well with the Weasley twins as Beaters, I thought it might be a suitable technique."
"Interesting thinking," Draco complimented. "Copying Gryffindor, however?"
"So?" Tiger asked. "If it had worked for the Ravenclaws, I would have done it. We're Slytherins, guys, who cares who we copy? If it works, we win. That's all that matters."
"Hear, hear!" Crabbe agreed raucously. Renton raised an imaginary glass in a toast and smiled as he pretended to sip.
"Anybody else?" Draco asked Tiger, all business now.
"I've got more coming, don't you worry."
For the next ten minutes, Tiger pulled out hopeful after hopeful, explaining why she thought each would be suitable for a position. After she had pulled out the last hopeful (Clarence Hugh), Draco collected the eight pictures and rifled through them. Carefully, he divided them up into seven piles—two Beaters, three Chasers, one Keeper, and two Seekers. "The only problem would be picking between these two," he said, pointing to the two Seeker hopefuls, Lionel Kempforth and Bobby Burkes. "Crabbe, Flint, what do you think?"
Each of the Beaters pointed to a different picture. "Jawkins?" Tiger pointed to Bobby's picture. "Marx?" Renton dutifully chose Lionel. "Bulstrode?" Millicent selected Bobby. "Baddock?" Baddock tapped Lionel. "So it's up to me, then."
"Well, both of them are training for your position," Renton pointed out. "Why don't we check all of these players out over the summer, and decide the first day of school next year?"
"A good idea, Marx. Anybody second that?"
Baddock cleared his throat. "I'll second it."
Draco gave the younger boy a long look before nodding. "Very well. We will meet over the summer. Any dates that anybody can't make it?" Nobody said anything. "Does July sound good? All right, then."
"Where?" Millicent interrupted. "My house can't fit fifteen extra people."
Draco glanced around. Tiger lived in a Muggle apartment in London, so that was definitely out of question. Renton's estate was expansive, but he wouldn't want visitors. Crabbe's place was under serious surveillance and it wouldn't be wise to upset the Ministry. Flint's house would be a decent place, but Draco was quite sure Marcus would find an excuse to come home and try to retake the Slytherin team. Draco refused to stay at Baddock's house, so there was only one option.
"We'll meet at Malfoy Manor on July first. My mother would love the extra company, and we have a Quidditch field out back. I will talk my father into getting us a Quaffle and a couple of Bludgers. We will owl all of the hopefuls and invite them to come along. Everybody agreed?" When he received six nods, Draco paged through the manila folder. "Now, on to strategies for next year…"
*
Draco rolled over on his bed and wished for about the fifth time in that many minutes that he could fall asleep. Three days until the end of term, and everybody was excited about going home. Most people wouldn't be thrashing with nervousness right then. Why did he have to be different? Why couldn't he just be a mindless minion of the dark forces and be eager to go home to Lucius and Lord Voldemort? He punched his pillow as he rolled over again, trying to tame his roaming thoughts. He needed sleep—didn't want it, but needed it—and rolling around in fits like this didn't help.
Somewhere to the left, Crabbe snorted and muttered something about rats and death. Draco smirked. Crabbe was deathly afraid of rats, just like Draco was deathly afraid of his father. Goyle claimed he feared nothing, but Draco was quite sure that snakes sent the hulking man cowering like a small mouse forced into the corner by an alley cat. Goyle Sr. had been trying beat this out of Gregory, but to no avail. He hadn't even been brought to the Junior Death Eater meetings over the summer because of that fear.
Draco sighed and punched his pillow yet again. Crabbe and Goyle had been angered that he was the only Order Brat of their generation, the only child branded by Lord Voldemort's curse. Just this summer, they had gotten jealous of his promised standings in the Dark Circle. They were insanely jealous of Draco's upcoming promotion into Lord Voldemort's ranks. Both of them would have to wait until graduation from Hogwarts and to pass several tests of faith. Draco would be admitted without a second thought—he was practically one of Lord Voldemort's own now. Out of jealousy, Crabbe and Goyle had taken to snubbing him openly instead of following him about in apt admiration. Draco accepted the change with mixed feelings.
It was a custom for the children to get the curse from Voldemort at two years old, but somehow Draco had been cursed on his first birthday, nearly two months before Voldemort's downfall. Now, nearly sixteen years after, he wished that his father hadn't pulled the strings to get him cursed so early. Then somehow, he could run away from this evil Dark Mark that loomed ahead in his future. After all, escaping directly from Hogwarts when he was a full wizard would have been marked easy on Draco's roster.
Draco sighed and sat up, pushing open his curtains a mite to glance at Goyle's alarm clock. 'Too late to be awake,' stared back at him. With another gusty sigh, Draco plucked up an old T-shirt. The ever-present scars on his back, hidden by a concealing spell, pulled as he jerked the shirt over his head. Dressed haggardly in old clothing, Draco looked more like he belonged with the Weasleys than with the Malfoys. He didn't give this a second thought as he escaped the confining dorm room and headed down to the kitchens for something to eat. Maybe food would quell his stomach enough to sleep. He pulled on his bathrobe as he walked through the Common Room.
The hallways of Hogwarts were, of course, forbidden to most students after lights out was called but Draco was not worried. As a prefect, he was perfectly allowed to wander at all hours as long as he gave the excuse, "Granger said that it was my night to keep guard." The teacher who had caught him would always just nod and turn away wearily. If nothing else, Draco's late-night wanderings were reminders of Lord Voldemort's returned power. Before Lord Voldemort's threats and return, there had been no night guard, no reason for students, teachers, and ghosts to sacrifice their sleep. Draco wasn't even sure if ghosts did sleep, but the point applied nonetheless.
Instead of the kitchens, however, his feet carried him through the dungeons, slapping on the night-cool stone. His mind wandered along behind as his body followed some daily sort of ritual. Somehow or other, he found himself in the corridor to the Potions classroom. Pausing, he blinked in confusion. He hadn't meant to come here at all.
Well, since he was here, might as well try to get the book from Snape's office.
Eternally grateful that teachers didn't keep locks on their classroom doors (he doubted that locks could hold dear Voldemort out, so what was the use?), Draco slid inside, blinking around in the darkness of the Potions classroom. Three uniform rows of benches and desks, each equipped with a set of ingredients and obsidian black cauldron, stared unrepentantly back at him. The skin on the back of his neck crawled as he slipped past Snape's desk and eased open the door to the office.
The office was not empty.
"Mr. Malfoy," Professor Snape drawled without so much as flickering an eye away from the cauldron he was perched over. Draco, startled at once again hearing his name tumble from the Professor's lips, jumped. "I knew you would be up here sooner or later."
"Sorry, Professor," Draco apologized almost absently. "I didn't know you were still up."
"So you just randomly decide that it is perfectly find to break into offices if the teachers aren't there? Have you no morals, boy?" Professor Snape asked, although his voice lacked the angry bitterness Draco was accustomed to hearing.
Draco had never felt so unafraid of Snape as he did now. "No, sir, only your office. I meant to retrieve the book you lent me earlier." He glanced over Snape's shoulder, trying to read the untidy stacks of parchment littered across the professor's desk. Snape's fastidiously neat script scrawled across them, covering every blank spot. Draco didn't have to read far before figuring out that the Potions Master was brewing a very simple strengthening potion. Doubtless, the cauldrons would need it with the exams just completed. "I'm not a kleptomaniac, despite the beliefs of certain Gryffindors."
"Is that so?" Professor Snape said dryly, tossing a pinch of foul-smelling white powder into the cauldron. "It's on the shelf, exactly where you found it earlier." Nodding, Draco mutely crossed to the shelf and pulled out the book, jerking as it felt warm in his hands. "Books are strange things, aren't they?"
"Sir?" Draco turned slowly and gave the cold professor an inquisitive glance. Professor Snape had stopped the feverish stirring and was staring into space at a point just above Draco's blond head. "Professor? Are you feeling all right?"
Professor Snape twitched slightly and gave him a glare. "I'm quite fine, Mr. Malfoy." He stared directly at Draco, as though seeing into him. Draco squirmed uncomfortably, but refused to show any uneasiness at all. If there was one thing he respected his father for, it was his ability to remain indifferent and collected. Somebody could beat Lucius Malfoy with a diamond club and he would not give them so much as the time of day. Draco respected him, and hated him.
"Well, if you're sure, sir, I think I'll be heading back to my dorm." Draco turned to head for the door, but Professor Snape's next words stopped him.
"How many strange books have you come across in your life, Mr. Malfoy?" the potions professor asked, giving his best student an astutely questioning stare. "You've never, in all of your years of studying, come across a book that claims ownership?"
Crevices burned into Draco's forehead. "No, I don't think so," he said vaguely. "Why would you want to know, sir?" Professor Snape was making him more uneasy than he would ever like to admit; the Potions Master was never like this in broad daylight, if broad daylight could be found in the dungeons.
"Couldn't sleep, could you? Wanted to head down to the kitchens for some food?" Professor Snape continued, lurching forward a step. Draco, not expecting this, jumped and cursed at himself for letting that bit of information slip. Snape's eyes did not miss this; they missed very little whenever Draco was talking to him. "A-ha, I see. You couldn't sleep, you headed down to the kitchens, and you found yourself here." In the half-light of the dungeon office, the tortured bruises beneath Snape's eyes jumped out harshly against the strained white skin. Draco refrained from backing into the wall, telling himself very forcefully that this was only his favorite professor, not some demented lunatic.
"How did you know that?" he demanded instead.
Snape reached forward with one spidery hand, spidery like Lord Voldemort's and like Lucius's. "Take a long look at that book, Mr. Malfoy. It's one of the strangest books in existence—it has a soul."
"A soul?" Draco asked uneasily, finally glancing down at the cover. An angry red staggered cross glared up at him, surrounded by a protective green circle. Behind that, a hazy gray background faded in and out, enchanted to throb painfully. Draco nearly dropped the book; why hadn't he noticed this before? Earlier, the cover had been blank.
Professor Snape laughed heartily, just as he had earlier that evening. Draco felt his tensed shoulders relax; the laugh, while creepy, had an ironically calming note to it. "This book claims ownership over a person. It chooses the person specifically, perhaps its scents out the needs and fears of that person," the professor explained when the laughter had subsided. "I never bothered to figure it out. The book chooses a person and goes with them everywhere."
"So I'm bonded to a book?" Somehow, the idea just did not appeal to him. Being owned by a book was certainly not Draco's life dream. He had actually hoped to become the Minister of Magic, not some book-slave. That was more Granger's alley.
"The bond is not permanent," Professor Snape assured, as though sensing Draco's worry. The man was a bloodhound for that sort of thing, Draco reflected silently. He had an unnerving ability to second-guess the questions before Draco had even managed to form them properly in his mind. "The book will eventually choose a new soul to claim and help."
The manual lay in his hands, lost of its innocent charm and humorous backing. What had only been a few ounces minutes before had now become a deadweight, weighing him down. He felt nothing but dread towards this epitome of his worst fear—slavery. Still, he would try to stomach it for now. "So I may keep the book?" he asked, trying to keep his tone neutral.
"You won't sleep until you do," Professor Snape commented blithely, returning to his cauldron. "Yes, yes, keep the book. I'm certainly through with it, it's been wasting away in my office waiting for a new owner." He stirred vigorously at the potion, the rod stabbing vindictively at the liquid. "You may go now, Mr. Malfoy."
Draco was still staring at the book, trying to figure out what his brain was screaming at him. "Sir? You weren't the last owner of this book?" he finally asked, puzzled.
Professor Snape did not look up, although his stirring paused. Instead, he stared into the cauldron, shoulders moving imperceptibly. "Just out of curiosity, Mr. Malfoy," and the 'Malfoy' was hissed out as though it was a curse, "have you ever loved anybody?"
The question nearly threw Draco from his feet. "What?" he spluttered, trying not to let his surprise show. "Have I ever loved anybody?" Suddenly, the floor tiles in front of his toes were very interesting. Had he ever loved anybody? Certainly not his father, that was out of the question. Narcissa was merely a mothering entity, something to be grateful for and skirted around. There was nobody…but… Draco looked up after a long moment. "No," he admitted. "I never loved anybody." Professor Snape turned away abruptly, whether for anger or annoyance Draco did not know. "I never loved a soul, but I could. I really could."
Snape turned back with a blank face. "Then maybe there is hope for you after all. You are not, as Dumbledore feared, the rebel without a cause." He paused and a closed look seized his face. "All students should be in their dormitories at this hour. I would advise you do the same."
Draco nodded, feeling numb inside as he stared to shuffle to the door. His feet just didn't want to seem to work properly. "Thank you, Professor, for the book."
Professor Snape did not look up. He sighed instead. "I apologize for my harsh words. The book belonged to your mother. Go to bed, Dr—Mr. Malfoy."
The uniform rows of desks and cauldrons stared at him as Draco stepped out of the office and closed the door firmly behind him. He gazed back sightlessly for a long moment before the book in his hand seemed to twitch and draw him back to wakefulness. Sighing, he crossed the room and swept into the corridor. There was so much he didn't understand about the Order of Phoenix, about Professor Snape, and about himself. Draco's stomach roiled almost angrily as he entered the Slytherin Common Room and headed for his room.
Somehow, even with the book, he didn't think sleep was going to come easily tonight.